First I must apologize to my loyal readers for the tardiness of this post. I spent the latter portion of the long/holiday weekend in a place that's technological amenities are not so far removed from the medieval-esque innovations of Westeros...My mother's house. Seriously....no internet...no cable. I have no idea how she entertains herself when I am not there to visit. But I have finally found the time to watch. Here are my thoughts:

This week's episode has proven to keep in line with the strong story-telling of the past several episodes of season 6. Much like me this past weekend, Samwell returned home. Fortunately for me, my mother is much more proud and accepting of me than Samwell's father is of him. This segment really made me think of the way in which this show both sets up expectations for and simultaneously values legacy.
Clearly Randyll Tarly's vast disapproval of Sam exists as a result of Sam's inability to live up to the legacy of his father's military prowess. Randyll takes every chance he can to shame Sam as insufficient both physically and in regards to his talents (or lack thereof of those skill he deems appropriately masculine). Sam's father is not a fan of the fact that his son prefers books and learning to the physical trials of hunting and war.


Melessa Tarly clearly disapproves of her husband's dismissal of their son. However, she very clearly still propagates the notion that father's ultimately want their sons to grow up in their image. As she takes her new grandson into her arms, she states that she believes her grandson will someday be a scholar just like his father. Her comment here suggests that there is a commonly felt notion among men that sons should grow to exhibit whatever iteration of masculinity that is held by the father.

This rift in acceptable masculine display as it plays out between Samwell and Randyll is similar to other iterations on this theme that have played out amongst other father/son pairings in the world of Game of Thrones. For example, Tyrion, although he is much like Tywin in political prowess, is often denounced by his father as a result of his dwarfism. Tyrion's inability to possess the ideal masculine body is seen as a failure to live in his father's image. Later in this episode we see a similar interaction transpire between Tommen and Jaime. Jaime is disappointed that his son is allowing his power to be taken by the Sparrow. Tommen's meek nature is a disappointment to Jaime who is more assertive. These sons being unable or unwilling to live according to their father's legacies causes the perception  that both father and son have failed.


As much as I have spoken of this idea of legacy in terms of fathers and sons and those sons who tend to fall short, I want to touch upon this theme in a different manner. There are certainly pairs that demonstrate the value of aspiring to be like a parent as well. I would really like to talk about this as it relates to Arya. Arya is arguably quite masculine and although she is not a son of Ned Stark, this episode seems to suggest that she aspires to be more like Ned. There is a moment in this episode when she walks back stage to add poison to Lady Crane's drink and she walks past the prop head of Ned Stark. Even before Arya returns to stop the poisoning that she set in motion. I  knew at this moment that she would not allow the murder to take place and would, in fact start the "return" of Arya Stark (as opposed to pursuing being No One). Arya clearly found a degree of honor in her father's way of living. She clearly is seeing a fault in the Faceless Men's killing paradigm - one that she cannot condone as a relatively honorable person. Although her choice my come to her detriment, as the Waif is now under orders to kill her, she will at least go out knowing that she did the honorable thing: the thing her father would have done.

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So the first episode of season six has come and I feel like I have more questions than answers... Jon Snow has yet to come back to life (seriously...I am still convinced this is going to happen), Tyrion looks as though he is failing miserably in Meereen (I still believe in you Tyrion!), Sansa has fianlly accepted Brienne (FINALLY!), and Daenerys seems to be in a lot less danger than the season five close lead viewers to believe (of course if you read the books you probably were not all that worried...).

But even through all of the turns from last night's episode of HBO's Game of Thrones, all I really want to talk about is Melisandre's old, wrinkled, and naked body.

Of course Game of Thrones is no stranger to nakedness, not an episode goes by that viewers are not meant to endure several instances of nakedness. Of course the typical display is young, toned and, what most would consider, classically beautiful. The media is largely guilty of acting as a visual gate-keeper. Only those who meet specific aesthetic criteria are usually deemed worthy of being seen on screens both large and small. These exclusionary practices are particularly brutal for women.


I would be remiss not to give credit where credit is due, however. Efforts have been made in recent years to center women with varying body-types and allow them starring, rather than co-starring, roles, but I would argue that these women are still relatively young, have some degree of classic beauty in their facial features, and are typically white (e.g. Melissa McCarthy, Rebel Wilson). Even with a degree of flexibility in the body shapes present there is little movement to be inclusive of "women of a certain age" unless they are already well established celebrities. Even then, several of these well established female celebrities are refused roles by casting agents for being "too old" to play opposite males of similar, if not older ages. For example, just last year, Maggie Gyllenhaal cited an instance when she was turned away as a potential love interest for a man nearly 20 years her senior. Gyllenhaal's claim triggered an influx of Hollywood's women to share similar stories.


In addition, older bodies are very rarely seen naked. For a show that has notoriously been criticized for its generous use of nudity, even causing critic and academic Martin McNutt to coin the term "sexposition" to describe its over-use in scenes of plot exposition, the ending scene of "The Red Woman" episode (S1.E6), in which Melisandre bares both her true age and the body that corresponds, certainly feels like something different from the nudity that has been seen thus far. And let's be honest, in the wake of Melisandre's big season six reveal, the twitterverse was BRUTAL. Here are just a few tweets:

And I dunno why, but #Melisandre looks a bit like #Kreacher.

— Navpreet Singh (@navpreet_tweets) April 25, 2016

Rules for dating Melisandre. At the risk of sounding superficial, the necklace stays on!

— Linden Ashby (@lindenashby) April 25, 2016

#Melisandre without her necklace
"The night is dark and full of terrors"#GameofThrones pic.twitter.com/Nrq1HFuwJq

— Jorge Barragan (@designgeorge24) April 25, 2016

I'm sure a lot of ladies will want this as birthday gift #GameofThrones #Melisandre pic.twitter.com/JNo1lwDm0D

— Andrés Díaz (@newandrewayne) April 25, 2016

I will not argue that this turn in Melisandre's physicality will not have a more narritorial purpose in the future of the show (how would I know now that they are off book), but there is arguably something to be said about this bodily display from a cultural standpoint (especially considering some of the more cruel reactions). What I think is important about this scene is that it speaks loud and clear to a culture that is obsessed with youthful beauty and the, often, unobtainable bodies that correspond with these cultural ideals. People age and bodies will inevitably show signs of this process. Melisandre's aged body in all it's nude glory is clearly a stark reminder to viewers that physical beauty is fleeting and even those who seem to possess it may be flaunting bodily falsehoods.


I am a firm believer that it is only through naturalizing diverse bodies (age, size, race, ability etc.) through media outlets that we can begin to disillusion ourselves from some of the more culturally prominent and destructive notions of beauty and worth to which we so often find ourselves beholden. Regardless of the direction that Melisandre's character takes in future episodes, I find myself grateful for a reprieve from the usual onslaught of the homogeneous female body type that Game of Thrones typically has on fully nude display. There is nothing unnatural about aging or the body showing signs of wear and only through showing this in the media can we disabuse ourselves of the notion that the aging body (especially the aging female body) is something to be feared and thwarted at any cost.
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Although I am unsure whether I have ever mentioned this in any of the House Lorch blog posts that came before this one, a couple of my larger areas of academic interests are children's and young adult literature & media and women's & girls' studies. As a result, I have found that I tend to gravitate toward explorations of the way in which literature and media construct and depict interpersonal relationships between women (or girls...or women AND girls).


More often than not, women's relationships, especially those with rivals (or frenemies), are centered on social, rather than physical, aggression. When girls are young, they are often socialized in a way that discourages physical aggression and, as a result, girls often seek out other avenues to express frustration (Lipkin 92). Instead, girls are more likely to partake in relational aggression (i.e. "being emotionally hurtful through rejection, sending rumors around, gossiping strategically, and withholding or denying friendship in order to reinforce or foster a social pecking order") which allows girls to be aggressive in ways that are more covert (97). This is not the same for boys, who are less apt to be punished for displaying aggressive behavior. This kind of relational aggression is something I have been tracking between Cersei and Margaery.


Interestingly Elline Lipkin points out that these relationships often come to a head as a result of disputes over relationships with men. This is particularly true when a romantic relationship exists at the center of the relationship between one of the women and the male in question. Of course, the struggle between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law is nothing really new. I am interested, however, in the way in which Margaery and Cersei go about making one another miserable. As much as some feel that this series depicts strong female figures, the use of relational aggression between these two characters is fairly stereo-typical and demonstrates women sticking to their usual cattiness toward one another.


To make things even worse, in their relational aggression towards one another, these characters tear one another apart using female oriented insecurities related to age and beauty. Naomi Wolf once wrote about the way in which beauty culture tends to divide women of different generations even if it might be in their best interest to come together to move women forward (Wolf 283).  She writes: "the links between generations of women must always be newly broken...older women fear young ones, young women fear old..." (Wolf 14). I do not mean to argue that the beauty myth is a sole driver of the divide between Margery and Cersei but the tension related to the beauty myth is certainly central to their relational assaults. For example, Margaery's "sister or mother," or later "queen mother or queen regent" question that she has posed to Cersei are clearly a jab at their age difference. In Cersei's flashback earlier this season we also know that Cersei fears a younger beauty that will take her place as queen.


Going back to the relational agression, we have seen in these last episodes (S5.E3-S5.E6) that Cersei is spreading rumors and exercising power to remove Margaery from her support system (sending her father to Braavos, having Ser Loras arrested, etc.). Clearly, Cersei has the kind of power that comes with age and Margaery the power that stems from beauty. It will be interesting to continue watching the way in which these two characters navigate their relationship (both with one another and Tommen) in the coming episodes. In the mean time, I will continue to think of these two as "the mean girls of Westeros."



Works Cited:
Lipkin, Elline. Girls' Studies. Berkeley, CA: Seal Press, 2009. Print.
Wolf, Naomi. The Beauty Myth: How Images of Beauty are Used Against Women. New York: Anchor Books, 1991. Print
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Through season 4, episodes 5-8, I could not help but pay particular attention to Arya and Sansa and the very different ways in which they are learning to "play the game." In these episodes we continue to see the Stark girls' tales unfold as they are molded/mentored by their male travel companions, each of whom have vastly different techniques to maneuver through the twisted political landscape that exists within Westeros. What I find most interesting about this is that the methods each of the Stark women are being taught could be construed as either primarily masculine or primarily feminine and both Arya and Sansa are with a male figure that is able to teach them the method that aligns most fully with their respective gendered leanings. As a result of the time that Arya spends with the Hound and Sansa spends with Littlefinger, each will pick up valuable tools that will allow them to play to their own gender-oriented strengths and, potentially, survive the game of thrones.


Successful masculinity in Westeros is largely understood through the expression of physical prowess and the successful bettering of another in battle. Arya has often been portrayed as more masculine in the show (regardless of her biological sex). She is physical, rough, short-tempered, and interested in battle. Her pairing with The Hound over the course of the last several episodes is really introducing her to what it means to survive as a warrior in the hostile climate of Westeros. The Hound is teaching Arya to use her battle-wits to actively take charge of her situation. Methods of survival, as taught by Hound:


In a nutshell, Sandor Clegane is teaching Arya not only to use her sword for revenge, but also to choose her battles and movements wisely so that she might use her instincts to survive the tumultuous social climate that infests her world.

Of course, we saw The Hound with Sansa in earlier seasons, but he was merely a figure that repeatedly saved her. The Hounds strengths (battle instincts and physical prowess) were not compatible with Sansa's talents. However, in Sansa's time with Littlefinger, she begins to learn how to use her own abilities to her advantage.


Now before I get too into the relationship between Sansa and Littlefinger, I want to clarify the gendered nature of their relationship. Whereas Arya and The Hound are active and direct in their exercising of power and manipulating their circumstances (traits associated with masculinity), Littlefinger (and later Sansa) are not as assertive and thus their passive aggression is more feminine.

Sansa and Littlefinger use social subterfuge, misdirection, and dishonesty to achieve their ends, essentially leaving others to perform the more active (i.e. dirty) work that is involved in their scheming. For example, Baelish is involved in the plot to poison Joffrey but does not actually drop the poison himself. The Hound himself even tells Arya that poison is a weapon of women in episode 4.8.

Littlefinger also lies to Lysa Arryn regarding his feelings for her so that she will poison her own husband and frame the Lannisters for the deed.


Although I would be remiss to suggest that Littlefinger intentionally leads Sansa to understand his methods and passes on his methodology to her, Sansa's time around him seems to resonate with her and finally allows her to fully understand the way that she will will be able to survive the political game in which she has found herself enmeshed. Although we have not seen much subterfuge from her yet, when Sansa reveals her true identity to the council at the Vale but still protects Baelish, it seems clear that she is going against Littlefinger's will. He would rather her identity remain secret but she understands that this gives him leverage (not her), so she seems to flip the script on Baelish and use storytelling and manipulation to her own advantage. The end of this episode clearly suggests that Sansa finally understands her strength and is finally and officially "in the game."

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Several weeks ago I blogged about masculinities and Hegemonic order in Westeros. I would like to take up a bit of space in my corner of the interweb and continue to talk about gender and how gendered paradigms operate in George R. R. Martin's universe. This week our class watched Season 3, Episodes 4-6 and I could not help but take notes on the incessant fainting of Jaime Lannister. These "faintings" are revealed to the viewer starting in the opening minutes of 4.4 with other instances of the same to appear through the following episodes. Through looking at these particular scenes and examining how they play into the overarching plot between Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth, I am hoping to demonstrate the degree of fluidity/flexibility between their dynamic gendered roles. There is a certain ebb and flow in their relationship that suggests that strength, emotion, heroism, or vulnerability (just to name a few) are not traits that inherently or  solely exist within any specific sex but, rather, all of these traits are possible within either sex in Martin's universe.

The representation of these traits within both sexes is very Butleresque* and these subversive acts seem to align with Butler's theories on gender performativity**. Butler states in Gender Trouble that "gender is the repeated stylization of the body, a set of repeated acts within a highly rigid regulatory frame that congeal over time to produce the appearance of substance, of a natural sort of being" (Butler 43). The "masculine" acts of both Brienne and Jaime seem to align with this structure. We only understand Jaime and Brienne's acts to be masculine (or feminine) because of the way in which society has ensured our understanding of these acts to be masculine (belonging to men) or feminine (belonging to women), but Brienne and Jaime subvert these ideas.


In the opening scene of episode four (which takes place in the day(s) following Jaime's loss of his hand), we are introduced to a weaker Jaime. He is noticeably unsteady on his horse and eventually falls to the ground as Brienne of Tarth begs the Bolton bannermen to assist him.